If Only It Would Rain
by stress
Summary: It's been 65 years since Liam Conlon left Brooklyn. Now, on the eve of his death, Liam returns to confront the tragedy he left behind.


**Author's Note**: I'm thinking of taking this one shot and turning it into something more. I'd appreciate it if anyone who reviews this gives me any suggestions on a longer story.

**Title**: IF ONLY IT WOULD RAIN

**Author**: STRESS

* * *

Liam Conlon knew he was going to die.

At eighty-three years old, he also knew he was the last of them all to go. There had been Connor Meyers, stabbed during a fight over a gal shortly after the end of the infamous newsies strike of 1899; Jack Kelly, gunned down at the turn of the century while heading out West; Good ole Kid Blink, who took his own life when his good eye went bad and he could no longer see; David Jacobs and his kid brother, Les, drowned when the ship they were sailing back home to New York from England on struck an iceberg and sank at the beginning of 1912; Anthony Higgins, a former gambler who plunged from a window when he lost his hard-won fortune during the 1929 Stock Market crash. And, now, though his death would be nowhere as tragic as those of his childhood mates, it was his turn.

It was a beautiful sun filled day as the New York City cab carrying Liam Conlon pulled up to the edge of the Brooklyn docks. Once he had paid the driver and the cab had peeled away, Liam removed his glasses and, with one eye open and the other squinted shut against the offending sun, he hoarsely whispered, "If only it would rain."

When the clouds above made no notice that they heard his whisper, Liam clutched his faded, cracked walking cane and began to walk towards the docks that overlooked the East River. Though it had been nearly sixty-five years since the last time that he had stepped foot on the Brooklyn docks, and though too many things had changed for his liking, Liam's feet remembered every move. The wood seemed to mold itself to his steps as he ignored the wary looks of the dock workers. Who were they to look at him like that anyway? No matter what age, he was still Spot Conlon. No matter how many decades had passed Brooklyn, and it's docks, belonged to him. Nothing could hurt him -- he was untouchable.

_No_.

No. As he widened the eyes that had closed themselves, reveling in the memories of his youth, Liam recalled just why he had caught the early morning train from Patterson, New Jersey, and immediately flagged down a taxi to bring him directly to the Brooklyn docks. It wasn't because of all the good times.

No.

It was because of Marie.

_Marie_.

Slowly lowering himself down to sit at the edge of the docks, Liam Conlon let himself remember -- remember the moment that he carried locked inside of him, the memory of his last night in Brooklyn.

_It was raining. Nonetheless, with every flash of lightning that broke up the dark, stormy sky, one could see the young man standing _fearless_ on the docks. Watching the tumultuous waves pulsing below his feet, Spot Conlon stood alone, ignoring the pounding rain around him._

_It was then that he heard her footsteps. Checking the pilfered pocket watch he kept stowed in his pants pocket, Spot grimaced. Eleven o'clock exactly -- Marie had gotten his note._

_Considering the fancy shoes she wore despite the rain Marie reached his side in only a moment. Though out of breath and red faced from the run, her rich brown hair partially fallen out from under her dripping wet hat and her elegant gown stuck to her skin, the skirt wrapped around her legs, Spot admired the vision. But, with a quick change of expression, Spot switched from a look of appreciation to a look of distaste. "Marie. I see Flicker was able to give you my message."_

_Taking a moment to catch her breath Marie paused before withdrawing a damp piece of paper from the pocket of her dress. "Yes, Liam. Marcus left this letter with Mrs. Witherspoon this morning, but she didn't pass it along to me until after supper. It was awfully hard to get out of the house without her or Father knowing where I was going at such an hour, but I had to come. What's the meaning of this?" she asked before stretching her arm out and handing Spot the note._

_But Spot did not reach for the paper; instead, he watched as the sheet of paper paused momentarily in mid-air before being beaten down to the wood of the docks by the rain. "I thought it was easy to understand, Marie. I mean, I knew what I was writing and I ain't have the fancy education that you got."_

_Marie looked taken aback at his words. "This note here says that we must not see each other anymore. Is that true, Liam?"_

_Spot paused for a moment, watching as tears began to well in her hazel eyes. Or was it the rain? Either way, Spot Conlon knew what he had to do -- lie. "Of course, doll. Why else would I send my best runner over to your ritzy are with a note during prime pape selling time?"_

_But Marie had witnessed the pause and pounced on it. "I don't believe that for a moment, Liam."_

_"Spot."_

_"Liam, Spot, it does not matter to me. What matters is that I love you and I thought you felt the same way. These past few months have been wonderful, haven't they? I mean, did I do something wrong?"_

_Spot turned away from her pleading face. _No, I did_," he thought to himself, wishing he could bring himself to say it aloud instead of lying to her, _"I thought that a classy dame like you could be satisfied with a nobody like me _But he couldn't. Instead he turned back to face her. "This is not a hard concept to understand, Marie. I'm done with you. Alright?" he cried, his nerves about the whole matter causing him to fling his hands up over his head. That and the flash of lightning that occurred precisely at that moment gave Spot Conlon the aura of a mad man._

_Again, though, Marie ignored his words and focused on the way he was saying them. "But, Liam --"_

_"The name is 'Spot'," he interrupted with a yell before advancing towards her, his hands now thrust out in front of him, his face screwed up in an expression of feigned loathing. "I ain't so hoity toity that I need to use a fancy name to feel important."_

_Marie shrank away at the tone of his voice; all at once it struck Spot how small she was, how dainty she was. She was much too good for him -- he understood that and he was rescuing her from himself, setting her free. But did she understand?_

_"Li -- Spot," she corrected hastily as if afraid of another of his outbursts, "please? I love you."_

_Obviously not. But Spot knew what he had to do -- and that was to make sure that Marie was not wrapped up in his street rat existence any longer. "Love?" he sneered, deliberately looking just past her, unable to meet her eye. If he caught her eye, he wouldn't be able to tell such lies to her. "I didn't think a cold-hearted rich priss like you knew how to love."_

_Marie flinched and the last tinge of color in her cheeks faded. "If that's how you feel," she said her voice thick with emotion. Then, with a sad sort of smile playing off her lips, she began to back away to the edge of the dock. "My heart is yours. Always has been, always will be. Remember that, Liam," she whispered, her voice carrying over the rain._

_Spot had only a moment to register her words when he saw her take one more step back. And, with that step, and another clap of thunder, Marie had fallen._

_Spot Conlon gaped in horror as Marie hit the water. He quickly rushed forward, fell to his knees and began to reach down into the water, groping for the girl he knew was fal ing below the waves. Frantically he reached but his hands found nothing. The thought of jumping never occurred to him. He knew he would drown as well -- he had never learned to swim._

_He remained kneeling on the docks for what seemed like hours. But the rain kept falling, the lightning kept flashing and Marie was gone. _

Gone.

_It wasn't until just before the break of dawn that the rain began to cease. Only when the wet on his cheek was due to his tears did Spot Conlon get to his feet. With one last glance at the river that contained Marie, he made a decision. "Everything seems clearer now," he murmured before angrily wiping his eyes and removing his cane from his suspenders. He had failed Marie, he had failed himself, he had failed Brooklyn_

_With a mere shadow of his trademark smirk, Spot Conlon began to walk away. It was only when the East River was out of his view that he spoke. "_Goodbye

All at once, realization hit Liam and he was no longer a lad of eighteen, it was no longer storming and Marie was nothing more than a whisper of the waves. With a slow, steady hand Liam pushed himself off of the docks' edge and onto his feet, before shielding his eyes and looking up at the offending sun. Once more he murmured, "If only it would rain."

Then, when the glare of the sun got to be too much for him, Liam returned his gaze to the river. _Marie_.

Liam Conlon knew he was going to die.

With a deep breath and a firm resolve, he jumped. Though he was sixty-five years too late, Spot Conlon jumped.


End file.
